


The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face.

by theonewiththeredhood



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt No Comfort, I'm Sorry, M/M, Not Beta'd, Past Character Death, Sad, Sad Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-24
Updated: 2013-12-24
Packaged: 2018-01-05 22:56:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1099558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonewiththeredhood/pseuds/theonewiththeredhood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because that song by Roberta Flack makes me sad.  I don't know.  I'm sorry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The First Time I Ever Saw Your Face.

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd. All mistakes are mine and mine alone.

     Dean doesn’t know for sure why he even remembers it in the first place, the low hum of a Roberta Flack song echoing in his ears. He shook his head, trying to forget the hum of the tune, his chest all ready tightening as his eyes began to sting.  
     Sam could be back with a salad, burger and a slice of pie any moment. Now wouldn’t be the time to break down, not that Dean ever admitted he did. Dean Winchester was a man, and he didn’t believe men cried, so he didn’t.  
     He just wanted that damn hum of that stupid, stupid song out of his head. It made him think of things he knew he shouldn’t dwell on. He remembered how sometimes, after he and Cas had had sex, slowly like Castiel absolutely adored, Castiel would hum the song, sometimes going so far as to sing it so very quietly Dean would strain to hear him. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, and he clenched his eyes shut, fending off the stinging tears in his eyes.     It had been two months since Castiel had committed his last good deed for the Winchester brothers, running himself through with his archangel’s blade, killing himself. How Dean had wished he’d have known— been able to stop him. He wished that he hadn’t surged forward the minute Castiel’s Grace began to light his eyes, catching him before he’d even hit the ground. The burnt-out wings had stained his jacket and clothes. Sam hadn’t told him about the few feathers burnt onto his neck, and when he’d seen them in the mirror after taking a shower, a week or more after Cas had gone, he’d broken down.  
     Dean remembered Castiel explaining how he meant the song to be for him when he’d sung it, and the thought made a pained sound tear from his throat, muffled by his gritted teeth. He clenched his hands into fists, his nails biting into his palms. It grounded him a little, but not enough to be of any use as he thought of the determined look on Castiel’s face as he pulled out the blade. Dean had been able to see the apprehension in his eyes, but he hadn’t been able to tell what Cas was going to do.  
     Castiel’s quiet singing echoed in his ears, and it would have been a lie to say a muffled sob hadn’t escaped Dean’s lips, sounding terribly broken like his heart had been and had stayed since two months prior. His left handed lifted to cup the feather shaped burns on the side of his neck. It was his fault Cas was gone. He could’ve stopped him if he’d only been smarter, able to read the signs. How Castiel clung to him a bit more during their brief hugs, how Castiel had kissed him with just that more need. It was so obvious now.  
     Dean shook his head hard, trying to clear his mind of the images berating his mind as he thought of Cas’s dead weight in his arms, and the look of his face, so serene in death. He’d only seen his face that calm when he was sleeping, and he’d wasted a few moments pretending Castiel was only sleeping. Dean’s sobs were full now as he scrabbled for something to cling to as he fought against his tears for breath, his gasps weak and harsh in the quiet hotel room.  
     Dean couldn’t stop the pain now, the emotion flooding his body so wholly he couldn’t do anything but sob. He fell asleep that way before Sam had even returned with dinner. When Sam returned to his brother, sleeping fitfully with tear tracks on his cheeks, he didn’t wake him, setting the bag of fast food on the small motel coffee table. At least it would be there for Dean when he woke.


End file.
